


in my head (with you)

by gealbhan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Hair Braiding, Intricate Rituals, Nail Polish, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Side Story: Cindered Shadows, Sleepovers, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22700527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: “Sorry! Got a little ahead of myself. It’s just that your hair is such a pretty color,” says Hilda. “And so well-kept, too! What do you, like, do for it? You have to have a pretty intense care regimen, right?”“Has the underground air gotten to your head?” is all Edelgard can think to ask.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 9
Kudos: 146





	in my head (with you)

**Author's Note:**

> *rolls in wearing a shirt that reads in all caps "i blasted through cindered shadows in 5 hours and this is all i have to show for it"* hi. there are very few actual story spoilers for cs here, but proceed with caution anyway!
> 
> title from "sleepover" by hayley kiyoko, naturally. enjoy!

It takes only several hours underground for Edelgard to begin losing her mind.

For one, she’s surrounded by almost all unfamiliar—and some familiar—people whom she doesn’t trust, with her only true allies being the professor (hopping aboard the Ashen Wolves’ cause without hesitation) and Linhardt (mumbling nonstop about books and Crests). That context and the invasive questions she’s been asked already make for an uncomfortable air.

And speaking of air, Abyss is _stuffy_. It’s underground, after all, and crowded, which doesn’t make for the most sanitary conditions. The layout is familiar in a way that grates on her skin as painfully as physical wounds might, reminiscent of distant times she wishes she could forget altogether like the bulk of her childhood—she avoids looking too much at the cracked, dirty walls and floors. She’s gotten lightheaded more times than she can count. She’d always taken fresh air for granted; never would she again.

The main thing Edelgard had forgotten to take into account, though, is the amount of _rats_ gathered down here. She cannot afford to lose her dignity around people she’s just met, so she engages in several petrified staring contests, only breathing again when the creature in question gets bored and scuttles away. Besides, it would be cruel to kill them, and some of the underground inhabitants seem to have a rapport with them (she catches Balthus feeding a swarm of them, so many it makes her head spin, and saying, “Please, ladies, control yourselves—there’s enough of the Magnificent King of Grappling to go around”). The most she can do, then, is take deep breaths and speedwalk as fast and far away as possible.

This time, she makes it to the cusp of the makeshift marketplace, somewhat winded. It seems she’s not imagined the setting draining her usual physical strength and stamina—at least she’s able to abandon her armor between battles.

As she’s straightening up, she notices a pair of sharp pink eyes watching her across the way. Edelgard grimaces and tightens her shoulders.

Appearing to not notice the stiffness of Edelgard’s expression (or pretending not to), Hilda smiles in greeting—though it’s a smile more befitting of her leader, the warmth behind her sharp teeth not reaching her closed eyes—and saunters over. She seems to be in tip-top shape. Right now, Edelgard hates her a little.

“Hell- _o_ there,” says Hilda in what Edelgard thinks is supposed to be a flirtatious tone. “Not doing so hot, huh?”

Edelgard doesn’t justify that with an answer.

“Aw, c’mon, we’re the only two girls down here, at least who are actual students. We’ve gotta stick together, right? Or something like that.” Hilda rolls her eyes, seeming unconvinced by her own words, and leans against the wall beside Edelgard. She jolts forward again a second later—based on her expression, she’s noticed the amount of grime behind her. “I just wanted to say—”

Without pause, she reaches for Edelgard’s hair. Edelgard steps just out of reach—she doesn’t know Hilda well enough to be comfortable with any physical contact, to suppress the feeling crawling under her skin when she thinks of looking in her hair in the mirror and others running their fingers through it. To her surprise, Hilda doesn’t push it, raising both hands at once.

“Sorry! Got a little ahead of myself. It’s just that your hair is such a pretty color,” says Hilda. “And so well-kept, too! What do you, like, do for it? You have to have a pretty intense care regimen, right?”

“Has the underground air gotten to your head?” is all Edelgard can think to ask.

Hilda frowns. “Maybe,” she admits. “As soon as I set foot in here, I knew I’d need to spend _days_ in the sauna.”

“It was my understanding that you aren’t fond of sweating,” says Edelgard, thinking of Hilda’s loud proclamations of such in the previous battles.

“Oh, yeah, it’s disgusting. There’s a difference between sweat from hauling ass and sweat from self-care, though.” Hilda pauses mid-eyelash bat. “Wait, I was telling you something. Your hair! It’s not just that these dank sewers are messing with me—I’ve noticed it for a while now. Not in a weird way, like your stalker of a lapdog—”

Edelgard winces. “No need to take cheap shots at Hubert when he isn’t here to defend himself.”

“Uh, that’s exactly why I’m doing it. So he can’t blast me into the next dimension with some magical bullshit.” Hilda wiggles her hands in what Edelgard takes to be an imitation of a spellcaster’s movements. It’s not good. “No, anyway, I just think your hair is neat.”

“Ah. Well, thank you, I suppose.”

“You _suppose_? C’mon, Edelgard, just take the compliment.”

“I apologize—I’m not used to people commenting on it,” says Edelgard, dropping her gaze. “And I’m even less used to you of all people complimenting me on anything.” Hilda’s less-than-positive feelings toward her are no secret. It isn’t like Edelgard expects them to be friends, being as they’re in different houses and Hilda is loyal to one of Edelgard’s rival leaders, but such flagrant suspicion is unorthodox.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t make it a habit.”

“That’s something of a relief.” The slight drop in Edelgard’s stomach contrasts her words. To avoid thinking about it, she adds, “For what it’s worth, I do take excellent care of my hair.”

“Right, that’s what I thought!” Hilda taps her cheek. “You wouldn’t mind sharing all of your hair secrets with me sometime, right? Like, how did you get it such a nice platinum color? That can’t be natural, can it?”

What is it with people asking about Edelgard’s hair color today? First Dimitri, stirring hazy memories Edelgard thinks she should be able to recall and yet _can’t_ , and now Hilda. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s not,” she says, voice tight. She thinks of someone else that she’s noticed, a sight that had frozen her in place the first time she’d seen it out of the corners of her eyes. “Don’t ask Lysithea that, either.”

Hilda blinks, probably due to the sudden iciness in Edelgard’s eyes and tone. “Yeesh. I mean, I wasn’t planning on it—I think she’d bite me—but duly noted. Care to explain why?”

“No,” says Edelgard. “Now, if that’s all—”

“Okay, I get it—I’ll stop asking.” Leaning to the side, Hilda shifts one sharp-nailed hand to rest on her hip. Her eyes flicker up and down Edelgard. “Why don’t you tell me about your hair care stuff? You can even try styling mine like yours or something, I dunno.”

Edelgard glances around. “And where do you propose we do so?”

“Hmm. That’s—oh yeah, Baltie told me there were full quarters here! Including one for women.” _Baltie—_ the nickname, though presumably derived from childhood given the clear age difference between the two, reminds Edelgard somewhat of Dorothea calling Hubert _Hubie_. Though Hubert and Balthus—and by extension, Dorothea and Hilda—are dangerous in different ways. “No one should be in ‘em around this time, so do you wanna, like, have a sleepover?”

“A… sleepover,” repeats Edelgard, missing the mark on making it a question.

“Y’know, a slumber party.” At Edelgard’s continued blank expression, Hilda’s eyes widen. “Holy shit, have you never done anything like that before? Okay, we’ve _got_ to now. Come with me, Your Highness!”

“I—” starts Edelgard, but she’s already being pulled through the halls by the wrist.

*

The women’s quarters are—well, not _nice_ , but about as clean as Edelgard would expect. The room looks much like a bigger and somewhat dingier version of the above-ground dorm rooms. There are even a couple of desks like the one Edelgard is so fond of writing letters upon and a chandelier adorned with candles, casting a warm glow into the dark room. A fluid Edelgard can’t identify (and doesn’t want to) is dripping from the ceiling to pool in the corner.

One point in the room’s favor, however, is that there are no rats in sight. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any tucked away, thinks Edelgard as she glances around suspiciously, but there’s no evidence of their blatant presence.

And Hilda has let go of her wrist. She’s stronger than Edelgard had expected her to be, with a muscular build almost matching Edelgard’s own, so while being pulled around hadn’t hurt, no doubt it would have had it gone on much longer. The room is quiet and empty save for the two of them.

Edelgard isn’t happy about being here, per se, but she isn’t irritated enough to storm out on the spot. “Now that you’ve brought me here, I may as well ask. What, pray tell, does a—” she grimaces “— _slumber party_ entail?”

Hilda giggles. Looking to the ceiling, she says, “Thank you, O Goddess who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, for forcing Princess Edelgard von Hresvelg to say the words ‘slumber party.’” Edelgard folds her arms and glares. “Sheesh, all right, I won’t take the Lady’s name in vain or whatever.”

“That wasn’t what I took issue with.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hilda’s hands fold at her waist. “A sleepover, for your information, is basically what it sounds like. People spend time together and, like, sleep together, but not in the way you’re thinking of,” she says with a wink.

Edelgard pinches the bridge of her nose. “The way _you’re_ thinking of, you mean.”

“Whoops, guilty as charged!” Flinging back her wrists, Hilda laughs and then clears her throat. “Okay, but really, every sleepover is different. People do all sorts of things—paint each other’s nails, braid each other’s hair, play games, girly stuff like that. It’s probably a bad idea to actually sleep before the professor gives us the go-ahead, so we’ll just do anything else we can get to before we’re ordered out to battle again.” Hilda groans. “After I spend a week in the sauna, I’m gonna spend two sleeping.”

Unsure if she’s supposed to add anything to this, all Edelgard says is, “Hmm.” Nothing Hilda listed off appeals to her, but she supposes obliging would be a way to pass the time, if nothing else, and she could still leave at any time.

“All right, I don’t hear any objections, so let’s get this thing started!” As she’s going to close the door, Hilda pauses. “Hey, we could invite the Ashen Wolves girls in here. Make it a real party.”

Edelgard shakes her head. It isn’t that she dislikes Constance and Hapi (as little as she’s seen of them, she doesn’t _like_ them either, though), but she certainly doesn’t trust them.

“Your call.” Hilda shuts the door and turns back to Edelgard with her arms folded behind her back. “Wanna play truth or dare?”

After Hilda has explained the rules of this game, which Edelgard has never before heard of (though come to think of it, she may have heard Dorothea mention something along the lines of it before), Edelgard agrees, however hesitant. Hilda plops down on the rug in the middle of the room. She spreads her legs out and pats the floor behind her for Edelgard to join her. Much more gingerly, Edelgard kneels opposite Hilda.

“Okay!” says Hilda, clapping her hands. Edelgard jumps at the sound. “You start us off, Edelgard. Truth or dare?”

Hilda’s gaze is a challenge, but Edelgard likes her odds. “Truth.”

“Oh, you’re no fun at all.” With a sigh, Hilda slumps forward. “Fine, fine. I’ll make it fun for you. Which of your house members would you most like to kiss?”

“Ex… cuse me?”

“Hey, you were the one who said ‘truth.’ Hate the game, not the player.” _I can do both,_ Edelgard doesn’t interject, biting her cheek. “You’ve gotta answer it, or else you’ll have to—I don’t know, honestly, but I’ll think of _some_ fitting punishment.”

Of that, Edelgard has no doubts. She sighs and says, ears heating up, “Dorothea. Truth or dare?”

“Ooh, good choice,” says Hilda, disregarding Edelgard’s blatant subject change. “Not Hubert, though? You two seem awfully close.”

Edelgard’s nose wrinkles at the very thought. He’s her closest companion (he would look down upon being seen as an outright friend, given their respective statuses), but in no way, shape, or form is he close in that way. “It isn’t your turn,” she chides, “nor is it your business. Truth or dare?”

“Ugh, fine. Dare.”

“Er,” says Edelgard. She looks down at the floor, eyebrows pressing together as she tries to think of something neither too dangerous nor provocative. Hilda had told her how the game was played, but she hadn’t offered any hints about what sort of things people were supposed to dare each other to do. “I dare you to—dance. For a minute.”

Hilda thinks about it. “Can I sing too?”

“I suppose so.”

To Edelgard’s faint disappointment, Hilda is a decent dancer, even with the only music in the room stemming from her own mouth. Edelgard has overheard her at choir practice, so the quality of her voice (good as well) isn’t all that surprising, but Edelgard finds herself raising her eyebrows as Hilda spins around the cramped room. Her noble upbringing shines through—as does her more brazen personality.

“That was a minute, right? I’m gonna say it was a minute, because I’m totally worn out,” says Hilda after what Edelgard is also pretty sure is about a minute. She sits back down. The barest hint of sweat is beading on her forehead; she wipes it off, and Edelgard looks away. “Truth or dare.”

In part because of Hilda’s glare, Edelgard says with the thinnest smile she can muster, “Truth.”

“Hmm.” Hilda narrows her eyes further but doesn’t call her out on it this time. “What are you afraid of?”

This catches Edelgard more off guard than even the previous question. “The ocean,” is her decisive answer. “I’m not fond of rats either. Truth or dare.”

“Oh, it must suck being down here, then,” says Hilda, raising her eyebrows. “‘Cause it’s all deep and dark and absolutely fuckin’ chock-full of the things, right?”

Edelgard sighs. “Again, not your turn—but no, I can’t say that this is a pleasant experience for me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Hilda lifts her palms in an apologetic gesture. “Dare, by the way.”

Edelgard is getting into the swing of things now. “I dare you,” she says, tone slow to lure Hilda into a false sense of security, “to have tea with me and use perfect etiquette the entire time.”

“Pinkie out and all?” asks Hilda, dismayed.

“Pinkie out and all,” affirms Edelgard.

For a long moment, Hilda mulls it over, fingers intertwined beneath her chin and lips pursed in thought. Then she sighs. “Well, I can’t exactly do that until we’re out of here. But I guess I’ll follow you up on it—don’t blame me if I forget, though,” says Hilda, winking and sticking out her tongue, as pink as her hair.

“Oh,” says Edelgard, “I won’t let you forget.”

“Jeez, how ominous. Anyway, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Ugh. What do you do to take care of your hair?”

Much safer ground than Hilda’s previous questions. “I wash and comb it daily—sometimes multiple times a day, if the professor has us go on a number of missions.” Hilda is already nodding, so Edelgard continues, “I tie it up before bed as well to ensure that it’s less tangled when I wake. I eat well to keep it healthy. It grows fairly fast, so I regularly trim the ends.”

Hilda blinks when Edelgard doesn’t speak again. “That’s it? No special cream or conditioner or anything?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” confirms Edelgard.

“You know, I kind of hate you.”

Edelgard smiles. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare. _Obviously_.”

Shit. Edelgard looks around, searching for some sort of inspiration in the room around them. “Lick the floor,” is what she comes up with, pointing to a corner of the rug. Less gross than some sections of the floor, but still not great-looking.

“Oh, now you’re learning how to play!” Without missing a beat, Hilda crouches and runs her tongue along the edge of the rug Edelgard had pointed out. She comes back up gagging and wiping her mouth. “Just tastes like, I dunno, fabric. And mold. That sauna trip just doubled in length. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” says Edelgard, unfazed.

Hilda groans. “Again?! Edelgard, you’re killing me here. C’mon, do a dare. I’ve got plenty of ideas.” She starts pumping her fists. “Dare! Dare! Dare! Dare! D—”

“All right,” interrupts Edelgard, because not only is Hilda’s chanting very obnoxious as is (almost as much so as her yelling her own name on the battlefield), she’s increasing her volume with each repeat. Hilda falls silent and mimes zipping her lips shut. “Dare. What are you going to make me do?” Despite the coolness in her words, something like thrill lights in her veins.

“Hmm…” Hilda’s eyes glint as she regards Edelgard, who begins to regret her choices. Not only this one, but everything leading up to this point. “I dare you to let me paint your nails!”

That’s—less dramatic than Edelgard had expected. She leans back. “I accept, naturally, but with what?”

To Edelgard’s horror (and, deep enough down that she would _never_ admit it, respect), Hilda proceeds to reach into her top and pull out a bottle of glossy black nail polish.

“Why do you have that on your person?” asks Edelgard, already not certain that she wishes to know the answer. “Better yet, why was it… _there_?”

“For someone who’s so—” Hilda makes an exaggerated face that Edelgard presumes is meant to represent something along the lines of _weird_ “—about the Church, you sure are a prude, Edelgard.”

Edelgard flushes up to the roots of her hair. “That’s really not—”

“But since you asked so nicely,” says Hilda, sweet in a way that makes Edelgard narrow her eyes, “you never know when you’re gonna need it! And it stays warm, as you put it, there.” She wrinkles her nose. “There’s, like, so much sweat down here.”

Eyeing the nail polish, Edelgard scoots a respectable distance away.

“Oh, it’s not _inside_! I’ll wipe off the outside for you anyway, Your Most Royal Highness.”

“Imperial,” mutters Edelgard under her breath before she can help herself. “Anyway, forget I asked. You have nail polish in your undergarments—we’ll leave it at that.”

Hilda rolls her eyes and, true to her word, rolls down her sleeve to wipe the bottle clean. “I have more colors,” she adds. “You know, if you want something other than black.”

Edelgard glances back at the bottle. She almost wants to ask if Hilda has red or purple, but there is something comforting about the deep onyx polish. “It’s all right,” she decides.

“Suit yourself. Black is boring, so I, for one, am gonna go with pink for myself later.” Hilda twists a lock of hair around her finger as she reaches back into her shirt with her free hand, pulling out two more bottles, both filled with clear polish. Noticing Edelgard squinting, Hilda snorts. “You really haven’t fucked around with this sort of thing, huh? This—” she taps the first one “—is top coat. It goes on top. And this—” she gestures to the other “—is base coat. It goes underneath.”

“I could have guessed that from the names.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all smart and shit.” Hilda huffs with an expression that suggests to Edelgard that she would have popped bubblegum had any been in her mouth. “Anyway, give me your hand. Oh, and take your gloves off.”

Edelgard does so, careful to tug her sleeves up to cover the winding scars that her gloves can’t cover anymore. Hilda lifts one hand up to examine Edelgard’s nails—kept blunt for efficiency’s sake.

“Wow, your cuticles are a total fucking mess.”

“Is that bad?”

“Nah—well, yeah, a little, but I can work with it.” Hilda presses her own nails into the bases of Edelgard’s, smoothing out the dry skin gathered there. Edelgard winces, but she lets up after a moment and reaches back to uncap the base coat. “Now hold still!”

This, Edelgard has experience with. She sits stiff and unmoving while Hilda, humming an unfamiliar tune, applies the base coat to her nails, first dabbing at the bases before applying broader strokes. Once she’s finished, she gestures for Edelgard’s other hand and repeats the process. Hilda blows on each finger before leaning back.

“That’ll take a couple of minutes to dry, sooo,” she says, picking apart the remnants of red polish on her own nails, “how are you feeling about this so far?”

“The nail polish, or—”

“Uh, yeah, the nail polish. It’s a little too early for deeper questions.”

“You didn’t seem to have any qualms earlier.” Edelgard stares at her hands, laid out in front of her. She almost wants to touch the shiny, transparent polish to see how how it feels under her fingertip, but she heeds Hilda’s words. “I feel fine. If that changes, there isn’t anything preventing me from simply removing it once I leave this room.”

“I mean, yeah. I didn’t dare you to _keep_ it on. Maybe I should’ve.” Hilda shrugs, then puckers her lips in a pout. “But it would be disappointing if you did. I’m putting in work for once in my life here.”

“Your guilt trips don’t work on me.”

“Aha, don’t they?” A pregnant pause passes in which Hilda, smiling, holds Edelgard’s gaze; then she reaches for Edelgard’s hand again as casually as if nothing had happened. “Okie-dokie, I think I can pop on the color now. It’s pretty opaque, so I should just have to put on one layer. Then I’ll wait a couple more minutes and put the top coat on.”

Edelgard resumes her statue-like posture and offers Hilda her left hand. Hilda carries out the same process she’d used for the base coat, this time with the brush from the black bottle. The color is dark enough to sharply contrast Edelgard’s skin, and she finds herself somewhat mesmerized by the slow, repetitive patterns of the brush running from the bases of her nails to the tips. Each stroke is clean and careful. She might not have much personal experience with this, but she can tell Hilda does.

Before she knows it, all of her nails have been coated with the thin nail polish. Edelgard flexes her stiff fingers as best she can without smudging the wet paint.

Hilda tilts her head. “Huh—the black actually suits you.”

Edelgard looks up. “I’m boring too, or something like that, you mean?” she guesses, gaze bordering on a glare.

“No, that’s not what I was thinking—for once,” admits Hilda, flashing an unrepentant grin. Edelgard scoffs, but she can’t fight the slightest semblance of a smile, which she twists her head away to hide. “I dunno! It just feels right somehow.”

“Well, my house _is_ the Black Eagles.” Edelgard eyes her uniform. “It goes with this, too,” she says, gesturing at her shirt because she can’t tug at it with her wet nails. “Something like red or gold might have stood out more, but I think I prefer the more subtle look.”

“I dunno if you can really call it subtle,” says Hilda with a snort, “but whatever floats your boat.” She taps her chin. “I assume this means you’ve changed your mind about ditching it.”

“Perhaps. It isn’t as though you’ll be able to tell,” says Edelgard, nodding to her abandoned gloves.

“Oof, good point. Guess I’ll just have to sense it or whatever.”

Edelgard huffs out a laugh. “I look forward to seeing you try.” She pauses, then adds, “You should apply the top coat now, correct?”

“Oh yeah! Jeez, I almost forgot.”

Hilda puts on the other clear paint, leaving Edelgard’s nails shiny and bright. Edelgard stares down at them and wiggles her fingers again.

“I take it we’re done with truth or dare now.”

“Hm? Oh, I mean, I guess so. But I’ve got another idea.” Hilda leans forward, teeth flashing in a way that evokes just as much danger as her original pondering expression, and asks, “Is it okay if I touch your hair?”

Perhaps she’s gotten to know Hilda well enough over the course of what can’t be more than half an hour; perhaps she really has lost it from being down here. But whatever the case, Edelgard says, almost by reflex, “Yes.”

Hilda brightens. “Hell yeah! All right, scooch your booch, okay?” When Edelgard only gives her a blank stare, Hilda rolls her eyes and gestures to the side. “That means move over,” she clarifies, and Edelgard moves to resituate herself. “Yeah, a little more to the—okay, stop. And now sit with your back to me.”

“Why?” Edelgard can’t help but ask, no matter how much it makes her sound like a toddler.

“I wanna braid it.”

The concept of fingers tugging through her hair, twisting it into knots, almost makes Edelgard recoil, but she can’t deny that, as gentle as Hilda has been, her doing so might feel nice. But—“Do you know _how_ to braid?” she asks as delicately as possible.

Hilda gasps and flattens a hand against her chest. “Um, excuse you! You’re disrespecting a future Garreg Mach Officers Academy graduate. Nah, but I do know how,” she says, dropping the histrionics. “My big brother was complete and utter shit at it, and my parents pretty much left us to ourselves, so I had to take over once I was old enough to do my own hair.”

“I see.” Edelgard obliges and adjusts her position so her back is to Hilda.

“Perfect.” A shuffling sound comes from behind Edelgard—Hilda moving closer. “You don’t mind a Leicester braid, do you?”

“What differentiates it from other types of braids?”

“Ehh—it’s fancier, I guess?”

“You guess.”

“I dunno, Edelgard, it’s not like I’ve ever sat down and compiled a list of Leicester versus regular braids.” Edelgard can almost hear the eyeroll. She doesn’t pursue the argument, though, because then Hilda starts running her fingers through her hair. “Oh, wow, it’s even softer than it looks! Very silky, very nice,” says Hilda, and Edelgard’s mouth twitches at the compliments. “There are still some tangles—” her pointy nail catches on one, the brief pain shooting to Edelgard’s scalp “—but since I don’t have a brush or a comb or anything, this will have to do.”

“Oh, you couldn’t fit your most exquisite jewel-studded comb into your chemise amidst all of your other beauty products?” says Edelgard dryly.

Hilda cackles with delight. “So you _can_ tell jokes!”

“You’re far too used to Claude, I think.”

“Eh, maybe. Or maybe you’re too used to Hubert.”

“Perhaps,” allows Edelgard. “Or perhaps it’s both.”

Instead of answering, Hilda shifts clusters of Edelgard’s hair between her hands. Her grip is tight enough to maintain but loose enough that it doesn’t hurt. Edelgard isn’t too sure of what’s happening for a stretch of time, only that Hilda is exchanging hair between her hands and twisting some of it together at the base of Edelgard’s neck. Then she shifts down to braid the rest of Edelgard’s hair in a more recognizable pattern.

Eventually Hilda’s hands drop from Edelgard’s hair, letting the plait fall against her back. “Aaand—all done!”

Edelgard stretches her neck and turns toward Hilda again. She tugs her hair forward along her shoulder—Hilda hadn’t exaggerated her braiding skills, as the braid is rather clean and neat, tied off with one of the purple ribbons originally in Edelgard’s bangs. Her hand slides back up to touch the braided section at the back of her head. She runs her fingers down the braid with what must be an awed enough expression for Hilda to giggle.

“Thank you,” says Edelgard, toying with the bit loose at the end. “I’ve not a clue how long it will stay in, but—it looks very nice. You did a wonderful job.”

“Hey, thanks for letting me do it! Seriously, I didn’t think you would agree. Hoped, obviously, but—” Edelgard glances up in time to see Hilda shaking her head, smile gentler and more genuine. “It really does look nice. Your hair seems like it would be great for a lot of complicated styles like this—it’s the perfect length, and since you take such good care of it, it won’t fall apart or anything. It’s all silky and soft and shit.”

Edelgard coughs into her fist. “I try.”

“I’m sure!” Hilda continues smiling, jovial. Her eyes spark with that same light that had unnerved Edelgard earlier. “Hmm, how do you feel about one more round of truth or dare? You start,” she adds before Edelgard can so much as open her mouth—whether in protest or agreement, she’ll never know. “Truth.”

“That’s a surprise,” says Edelgard, blinking. “Er. One moment.” She fidgets with her hands for a moment, careful to avoid smudging the still-damp nail polish. She could return one of Hilda’s favors from earlier, but that seems cheap. What she comes up with is: “What do you truly think of me? And be honest. It is called _truth_ , after all.”

“Now there’s the real surprise,” says Hilda, blinking right back. “Hmm—give me a minute to think about it, okay?”

“Of course,” says Edelgard. “Take your time.”

“Uh. Ooh, okay! Like, I totally thought when I first met you that you were just another stick-up-the-ass nerd like most of the nobles here—” Hilda waves a hand to encompass the other students “—‘cause you’re so serious and formal and, I dunno, aloof all the time? And, I mean, the whole house rivalry thing is a huge deal in my family, so I hated you on principle. Fear the Deer!” she interjects, loud enough to make Edelgard jump. Her voice softens as she adds, frowning, “But, you know, I’m starting to realize that you’re actually pretty fucking cool, Edelgard.”

“…Actually?”

“Well, yeah! I never thought I would think of you as _cool_. You kinda seemed like a wet blanket at first. Not so much so as Dimitri, who I think would get trampled by a horse and apologize for being in its way, but y’know.” Hilda shrugs—then, with an overdramatic groan, she adds, “I guess I was wrong! I don’t say that very often, so cherish it.”

Despite herself, Edelgard chuckles. “I will. Thank you, Hilda. That was—sweeter than I expected.”

“Don’t get used to it. I have a reputation to maintain,” says Hilda with a delicate sniff. “Anyway, I guess it’s only fair for me to ask you to tell me what you think about me now.”

“What if I were to ask for another dare?”

Hilda scoffs. “Unlike you, I’m a truth or dare pro. I dare you to tell me what you think about me.”

Edelgard hadn’t considered doing that. She commits it to memory, though the possibility of her ever playing truth or dare again after today is unlikely, and spends a few moments considering her answer.

“Sometime today would be nice.”

“That desperate for praise, are you?” says Edelgard, grimacing. “Fine. Simply put, I don’t understand you in the slightest.” Hilda starts to squawk out a protest, but Edelgard silences her with a look. “I think you’re a much harder worker than you let on, and I can’t understand why you would mask how skilled you are as you do. That said, I respect the strength and drive you do possess. Were you to put your mind to it, I believe that your abilities and influence alike could allow you to accomplish wonderful things—the kind of things that might have led me to pay attention to you beforehand. …And you’re very good at braiding hair and painting nails.” Embarrassed by the way Hilda is looking at her, Edelgard’s voice trails off at the end.

“Aw, Edelgard,” says Hilda, eyes watering and chin quivering—Edelgard’s can’t tell if it’s forced or not. “That’s so nice! You really do like me.”

Edelgard doesn’t know about _like_ , even now, but—“I wouldn’t have let you paint my nails or touch my hair if I didn’t at least trust you. You’ve proven yourself to me, so to speak.”

“I feel the same! If you want, I could make you an accessory sometime. Like, a necklace or a bracelet or a pin or something—even, I dunno, a hair tie. I like making things like that, to be honest,” says Hilda, somewhat bashful. “Usually I would ask for something in return, but just this once, I’ll consider our game of truth or dare payment enough.”

“Well, thank the Goddess for that,” says Edelgard, rolling her eyes. She pauses. “So your whole _house rivalry_ shtick—”

“Oh, it is still all the way on. I’m going to kick your fucking ass in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Don’t think for a second that I’ll hesitate.” Hilda narrows her eyes in a way that makes Edelgard believe her threat—and anticipate that day. Then she frowns. “But I hope we never have to fight, like, for real. I would hate to look down the battlefield and see you charging in my direction. Both because, I dunno, we’re sorta friends now, and because I’ve seen how you’ve been tearing through dudes with your axe.”

“You’re not so shabby yourself, despite all of your protests to the contrary,” Edelgard remarks. “But—I feel the same, somehow.”

“Good! Then let’s just try our best to not end up in a position where we have to fight each other.”

Edelgard stares up at the candles on the ceiling, thinking of how their glow is nowhere near as shiny as either her nails or Hilda’s smile, and a dry taste fills her mouth when she says, “Let’s.”

**Author's Note:**

> the last time i braided hair and painted my nails (read: had nail polish applied by a girl the morning after probably the last sleepover i attended. note that i did not attend... many) was when i was ~11 and still had long hair and any semblance of an interest in cosmetics, so any wrong info here you can blame on wikihow. also, i think cs is meant to be after the battle of the eagle and lion, but my city now!
> 
> anyway, thank you so much for reading! if you have time to spare, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/withlittlequill) | [tumblr](https://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com)


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